Scrap Paper
by Nattish
Summary: --Harry/Draco-- The students of Hogwarts are obsessed with origami, and everyone -- including Draco Malfoy -- seems to be taking advantage of the trend in their own way.


SCRAP PAPER  
by Natt

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Summary: The students of Hogwarts are obsessed with origami, and everyone seems to be taking advantage of the trend in their own way.

**NOTES**: This was first posted 3 years ago, just not at this particular website. So, that explains why it's set in sixth-year, and yet it's not AU. :D

* * *

The whole school decided to take up origami. It was interesting at first to see the dozens of little cranes carrying messages across the Great Hall at dinner, beautiful to see the shimmer of pale paper under the moonlit ceiling, surprising to find a lopsided lotus flower next to your goblet—and to realize that the first year you were tutoring in Potions had an agenda other than to bring up her marks.

Eventually it became an art show of sorts, each student showing off his expertise with the crispest of creases, the smoothest of tapers. The foyer was the unofficial exhibition hall, starting with an array of cranes, and moving to spectacle of floral arrangements, and onward to an army of dragons and hippogriffs that moved Hagrid to tears.

Art made way for capitalism, as it so often does. The most affluent market was the paper market itself; normal parchment was too thick to fold properly, so older students began selling origami paper to younger ones, who were unable to go to Hogsmeade. There were smaller businesses, too. Pansy made custom crowns for the self-glorifying young ladies she seemed to attract ("A Sickle apiece—yes, you damned well heard me right"). Terry Boot started a workshop for beginners, which had no payment, per se, but there was a rumor that Flitwick was letting him out of nighttime patrolling duties in exchange for keeping the rowdier students out of trouble.

This angered good Samaritans like Draco Malfoy, who made it a point only to fake illness to get out of Prefect responsibilities. Henceforth, Draco Malfoy made it a point to hate the origami trade altogether.

Perhaps the only people besides Draco who weren't happy about this trend were the faculty—particularly Professor Snape, who ended up combing so many bothersome birds out of hair that he banned origami from the dungeons (Pansy's princesses moaned for days). Snape hit his boiling point on student-proclaimed Fold a Fish Friday. He didn't take kindly to the soggy piranhas he ladled out of Longbottom's cauldron.

"New policy," he rumbled. "Any student in possession of any form of paper will serve immediate detention. I don't care what activity or practice you have after this class, you will stay and learn that there is no place for paper in a school. Now, empty your bags and turn out your pockets."

Draco was pleased to see that nearly every student but him would be held behind, even Granger, for having a packet of tissues in her satchel.

"As I suspected," Snape spat at her pink face. "Detention."

The bell rang. "You and you," Snape said, "—out. As for the rest of you miscreants..."

Draco didn't wait to hear what torture Snape would be implementing. He made it to the main floor before he noticed who the other student let out was.

"What," he called. "Snape didn't catch you making flowers for your sweetheart?"

Potter glanced over his shoulder as Draco fell into step. "I don't like origami," he said lazily.

Finally, someone with sense. Draco didn't even mind that it was Potter, as long as there was another student to share in his misery.

Potter strode into the Great Hall to pick at what was left of breakfast. Draco was disgusted, watching him stuff hours-old toast and sausage into a serviette and into his pocket and chug a glass of lukewarm milk.

"Really," Draco drawled. "And why not?"

"It reminds me of what you used to do to me in third year."

"What."

"You don't remember?" he asked, wiping his mouth. "You would draw a picture of me meeting my doom in one way or another, fold the parchment into a crane, and send it to me from across the dungeons."

Draco sniffed. "I've never folded a crane in my life."

"Have."

"Haven't. You're confusing me with some other mortal enemy."

"There are only a couple people I know of who like to fantasize about me dying. One is you and the other is Voldemort, and I can't imagine _he_ sits around folding miniature animals. Funny to think about, though..."

"Potter, first of all, if you say that name again I'll revoke this acquaintanceship right now—"

"Didn't know we had one."

"Second of all, I don't fantasize about you dying. I got over that a long time ago. You're old news."

Potter's mouth twitched. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Since Potter seemed to be patronizing him, Draco turned up his nose in what he hoped was an imperious manner.

"Yes, that's right," he sneered. "You don't matter to me at all."

Potter began to smile. Draco began to feel huffy.

"Well," he said. "Since we're the only seventh years out of class, I elect you to entertain me. Let's go outside."

At another point in his life, Draco would have thought Potter to be a huge arse, but he found out that day Potter wasn't all bad; he answered all Draco's questions, unlike Crabbe and Goyle, who tended to stare blankly unless you waved bacon in front of them, and he didn't whine, unlike Pansy, who Draco blamed for his chronic ear problems.

"Why do you let your hair stick up like that?" Draco asked, as they sat under a tree. "Are you trying to draw attention to yourself?"

"I just don't care," Potter replied.

"Oh. And why are you rude to me? Do you think you're better than me?"

"No. I'm only rude to people who are rude first."

"Oh. Were you angry when my father was released from prison? I hope you were."

"I don't care what happens to your father, as long as he's not killing people."

"Oh."

"You say 'oh' a lot."

"Are you telling me you want me to go away?"

"No. I just notice you say 'oh' a lot."

"Oh." Draco pondered that. "I notice you have broad shoulders."

"Well. They're not that broad."

Potter took out his serviette and crammed a cold sausage into his mouth. Draco watched his throat work as he swallowed; the sun shined on a patch of stubble Potter had missed shaving. He didn't know what that said about his character. Was he naturally scruffy or just careless? Draco wanted to know.

He put his finger against the unshaven spot. Pansy sometimes told him he should learn the meaning of personal space. Well, what did Pansy know?

Potter raised his eyebrows and touched the spot, too. Then he shrugged his shoulders as if to tell Draco he didn't care. He crumpled the empty serviette and put it in his pocket.

Potter got up and started away. Draco followed him. They walked to Hagrid's hut, where Draco was pleased the giant was nowhere in sight, only a dozen fenced-in Puffskeins, a giant lump of a dog on the threshold, and a cord of wood several meters from the front steps.

Draco was surprised when Potter shucked his robes, rolled up his sleeves, and took a large log into each hand. For a moment he couldn't think of anything but the bulge of white biceps, the wide reach of fingers around bark, the subtle flex of muscle under a starched white shirt. Draco wanted to ask _When did you develop such lovely assets__? _but the only thing he could do was say softly, "What are you doing now?"

"Moving wood."

"What for?"

"I promised Hagrid."

Draco eyed the tall stack. It would take a long time with just one person.

"If you're going to be doing servants' chores you may as well use magic," he said.

"Wood burns longer untouched by magic."

"Really."

"Most things in nature are better off left untouched."

"Oh. Right. That's why Snape makes us brew by hand, I suppose."

"I hadn't though about it."

"You wouldn't."

Potter looked thoughtful, but didn't pay Draco anymore attention than before. He piled the wood against the wall of the porch. He went back for more. He piled that, too. Draco was enjoying the view, but developed the urge to get closer to it. He edged forward and picked up a small log. How coarse to the touch. Potter, who by now was perspiring in a most alluring manner, gave him a nudge of the elbow.

"Ouch," Draco said, and began to pile wood, one small piece at a time.

Potter called him a weakling. He should have been offended, but oddly enough the only feeling that grew within him over the next hour was one of companionship.

He couldn't imagine why something as gruesome as manual labor would inspire him to seek Potter's company after that, but it did, and he felt no shame in sabotaging the entire Potions class to get them detention again—and again after that. In truth, it became a dirty habit over the next couple weeks. While everyone was claiming they had no idea how the paper-Snape dolls had got into their pockets, Draco and Potter retreated outdoors, with the splendid sounds of their classmates' agony in their ears.

"I can't believe I'm here with you," Potter confessed, "while Ron and Hermione serve detentions they don't deserve."

"Don't fret, Potter. You've got to do something selfish once and a while."

"I feel like I'm joining the Dark side."

They bypassed the shady tree to stroll in the gardens, because the sun was too delightful that day to waste.

"I found a paper bird in the bottom of my trunk," Draco said shamefully.

"Did someone make it for you?"

"No, I did."

"I thought you hated them."

"I do. But I guess I didn't in third year."

Potter shot him a smug look. "I was right."

"I concede. I must have never got around to sending this one to you." Draco pulled the dirty, withered bird out of his pocket and handed it to him.

He unfolded it, and together they watched stick-figure Potter drown in a vat of urine.

"It brings back fond memories," Draco said.

"Hrm."

They left the gardens to stand on the pitch, and spied a huddle of first years terrorizing Madam Hooch. At least, it looked like terrorizing, until further inspection showed that Hooch had injured her hand teaching the leeches how to fly. She tried to push out of the throng, but they clung like thorns, shouting, "Are you okay, we're sorry, are you okay?"

Potter marched over.

"Back up, you lot, give her some room," he commanded, and managed to scatter the children and send a pang of rapture into Draco at the same time. What power.

Hooch nodded at him. "Thanks, Potter. Look after them while I show myself to the infirmary, will you?"

The children were excited to be taught by Harry Potter, who Draco knew the youngest students cheered for in the Quidditch stands no matter what House they were in. Draco felt resentful when they stole him away and offered him twenty separate brooms to fly with.

All but one student crowded around Potter as he explained the benefits of regular broom maintenance. This student was plump, pink, and rather unsettling.

"Hi, Draco," she said.

Draco recognized her from the purple unicorn pin she always wore—Johnston, the brat who kept leaving paper flowers next to his dinner plate!

She looked at the bird in his hand. "Did someone make that for you?" she asked with jealousy.

"Of course not. I made it myself."

Her eyes lit up. She clutched the unicorn pin. It began to sparkle. Draco edged away.

"You're so talented," she said, her voice rising in pitch.

"It's not that interesting," he insisted, and turned away to watch Potter straddle a broomstick. What precision.

"I reckon you can do lots of tricks with it!" Johnston said.

Another student, a boy this time, turned away from Potter and looked at Draco.

"Quidditch tricks?" he screeched.

"No," Johnston said, "origami tricks!"

"Oi! That kid can do origami tricks!"

Suddenly the students were bored of Potter, and left him there with a look of confusion and a broom between his legs. They packed around Draco in a mass of round eyes and open mouths. Draco was startled. He didn't want anyone to associate him with this paper-folding rot. All he could say was, "If you think—I'll be damned if I—"

But now even Potter was gazing at him, which was a different story.

"Well," he said slowly, "the first thing you want to do is hold up your goose, like so." He demonstrated. The class was in suitable awe.

"I thought it was a crane," said one of the fiends.

"I'm the origami master here," Draco snapped. "I say it's a goose. Now then, next you take out your wand and tap it on each wing, like so."

By the time Hooch returned he had the goose flying circles around his head and the class eating out of his hand. Draco reveled in the attention. It didn't hurt that Potter was impressed, either:

"Didn't know you were so good with kids," he said, as they made their way to lunch. "In fact, it always seemed to me that you took joy in harassing them."

"Nonsense, I'm smitten. I'm going to adopt a whole farm of them."

"And that first girl," Potter said, "she seemed to be engrossed in more than just the goose."

"Oh, the fat one, yes, she can't get enough of me."

At that moment Johnston and her friends skipped by, making eyes at them both.

"We're still on for Thursday night, Draco?" she asked.

How Draco longed to squash her. "As always..." he said sweetly, and the girls flitted away like bugs.

Potter cleared his throat. "Interesting development."

"I'm tutoring her."

"In origami...?"

"No, I'm tired of that subject! Potions."

"She seems to think it's a date."

"She thinks a lot of stupid things. Her marks are abysmal."

"And you can't date a girl who's less than perfect in Potions, am I right?"

"The day I date a girl at all is the day I lick the hot end of a branding iron."

Potter gave him an awkward smile. He got the unpleasant feeling that Potter was thinking about his gender preference, which Draco wasn't all that secretive about, but if Potter was going to start being rude like they'd been to each other before then Draco had to do something to ease the situation. He didn't know what to say, though, except, "What are you going to have for lunch?" but that wouldn't do...

They were coming upon the Great Hall. If Draco didn't do something quick Potter might get uncomfortable and start making excuses not to speak with him anymore.

It occurred to him to sneakily brush his hand against Potter's, but Potter kept his hands in his pockets, so that was the end of that plan. He settled on bumping shoulders with him. After a moment, Potter bumped back. Draco couldn't tell if it was deliberate. He knocked his elbow against Potter's. They were both quite bony, so it didn't feel nice. After a moment, Potter's elbow knocked him back.

They slowed and stopped in the foyer, cocooned in a rainbow of sharp bright shapes, the shrine of the fantasies of Hogwarts' blossoming origami artists. The jagged troll faces glared like African masks. Draco wondered if you could actually wear them. The distorted hippogriffs raised their claws as though trying to express something of great urgency.

A rose came unstuck from the ceiling. It fluttered through the spilling sunlight from the castle's entrance and touched the ground. Potter watched it. Draco watched him. He didn't know if Potter was blushing or if his cheeks were always the color of petals.

"You know," Potter said. "It's curious how we've..."

The light shined on Potter's throat again. Draco reached out and pressed the same spot. Still a lazy shaver. Potter pressed it, too. Their fingers touched as Draco drew back.

Potter looked away, at the rose. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"I don't know," Draco admitted. "I don't think I want to be seen with anyone who hasn't shaven properly."

"No. Why have you been following me around?"

"I'm not. You're following me around."

Potter didn't look away. Draco's stomach trembled, and all at once he knew the answer to Potter's question, why he was behaving this way, why he was following Potter around, asking questions, and making remarks. He had developed a crush. He wondered why he hadn't noticed before.

Students began to filter between them, into the Hall, but they stood like they were alone.

"You don't need to put everyone in detention to spend time with me," Potter said.

Draco didn't believe him. Surely Potter would only want to talk to him if his friends weren't around.

When he didn't reply, Potter said, "I wish you'd stop it. People are getting suspicious, and Hermione's about to have a nervous break down."

"_Is_ she?"

"Just stop," Potter said fondly.

Fondly. Draco couldn't give that up. He had to take this time for himself, these private moments—these dates, as he would have liked to refer to them aloud. He could never deliberately share Potter with anyone else, or their dates for that matter. So the sabotage continued without a hitch. If Snape suspected anything, his bias toward Draco kept him from mentioning it.

"Why are you doing this?" Potter asked again. They were tucked in a cove outside the castle, a hollowed-out section of stone that, as first and second years, they had often seen the older students snogging in, but both of them kept suspiciously quiet about that. It was also good for private conversations and watching the light glitter on the lake surface.

"Why aren't you stopping me?" Draco asked.

Potter looked at his lap. His hands were clenched there. Draco took his arm and leaned on him. Potter kept his face cool, but his feet slurped around in the muddy bank in front of them. His hips squirmed. He sat up straight. His jaw muscle stuck out where it was tense.

Draco watched all this steadily. He said, "Don't be so awkward," and adjusted his hold on the arm.

Potter let out a long breath.

Draco felt content to press his temple to Potter's shoulder now. His eyes strayed over the lake. It was too bright, like a giant mirror. They dropped to Potter's lap.

"Harry," he said, understanding Potter's discomfort, "you're hard."

Potter shook his head in embarrassment.

"I've got to go," he said, fumbling to detach himself. Draco grabbed on again as he stood up.

"Don't. Stay. You must know how I..."

"Yeah, I know," he said heavily, "but I don't know what to do about it. Please, let go." He looked around, as though deciding which way to escape.

Draco knew what he should do, but the problem was he didn't know how to go about it either. So he did the first thing that came to mind:

"Potter, look out, the squid!"

"Wha—"

The squid turned out to be Draco's mouth leaping for Potter's. There was no time to hope his lips would touch Potter's lips and not his nose or chin; he turned out to have fair aim, and with luck he slipped in the mud and fell into Potter's arms. Potter sucked in an excited breath, and the air was drawn out of Draco's lungs. Dizziness overtook him. He tried to follow the air Potter was taking away. Their noses mashed together. They knocked heads. They tumbled into the grass, chests colliding with enough force to leave Potter gasping on his back.

Now back in the cove, Draco felt an enormous sense of ease as he rubbed his nose on Potter's chin.

"Sorry," Potter huffed into his hair. "For suffocating you."

"You should be."

But even Potter's murder attempt wasn't a distraction from this feeling of intimacy, the shivering closeness he'd desired for the past two weeks, not to mention the bone-hard penis sticking him in the belly. It was just like in his fantasies, only Potter wasn't wearing chaps. Draco's position more than made up for it: legs wide over Potter's groin, nose against the jaw he'd been examining for days, hands clutching those solid shoulders. Potter was holding onto his thighs as if fighting off a deep primal urge.

"Aren't you going to kiss me again?" Potter asked.

"Yes, when I feel like it."

"Okay."

Draco pressed his lips to the dip of Potter's throat. It tasted of nothing.

"I meant on my mouth."

"Shush."

Draco put both hands on Potter's chest. He nuzzled the moisture he'd made on his throat. There was a freckle just under his shirt. He put his mouth on it, for a moment caught up in the reality that he was truly feeling Potter's heart under his face.

"You're kind of just licking me, Malfoy..."

"Would you shut up? You're ruining my moment."

It was only when Potter grabbed him by the armpits and hoisted him up did Draco realize what a horrid, impatient person he was. Now they were face-to-face. Potter was dissatisfied with this position, too. He rolled them over. A rock was under Draco's head.

"Ouch," he said.

"Sorry," Potter breathed.

They made to kiss each other. They pulled back. It was much more difficult when you were thinking about it. Potter looked nervous. He stared past Draco's head, apparently deciding whether to kill the bug about to crawl onto Draco's hair. He flicked it away, before taking his glasses off. He put them on the ground and looked at Draco.

"Well, go on if you want it so bad," Draco said. "You're on top, and I'm not about to strain my neck."

"You were the one who kissed me first."

"And you're the one who wants to do it again. So what?"

"It's a little late to act indifferent, Malfoy. And what was all that nuzzling stuff about?"

"I'm naturally exploratory."

"Bullocks, you were fondling me."

"You know what, Potter?" he said, with a glare. "You're the one with a huge stiffy."

And that was the first time Draco found someone else's tongue in his mouth, and, you know, if rather felt like a squid, after all.

For all of Potter's nervousness, he didn't kiss like a prude. He gave Draco's mouth a thorough cleaning, his tongue laving Draco's tongue, warm and moist. He filled Draco's mouth utterly. His fingers sunk between heaving ribs, kneading the air out again, but all that was taken was puffed back with eager relish. It was a discomfort Draco welcomed, lying in Harry's arms—Harry breathing for him, Harry consuming him.

Harry's arm went under Draco's head. His other arm went under Draco's thigh, hoisting it around his waist. Draco wondered if Harry was cold and needed his body for warmth. But the sun was vibrant on them. Clearly, Harry wanted him close because it brought him pleasure. Draco's muscles seized up in arousal. He felt a tremor go through him. He felt Harry tremor, too.

In the next few moments, Draco was most interested in the softness of Harry's hair. It swept into his face as Harry, in essence, made love to his mouth. Draco opened his eyes and combed it away. He delighted in it...soft as feathers, black as beetles, sweaty, and curly.

Abruptly, Harry withdrew. He was red and winded. He lay on Draco's shoulder.

"You really think it's huge?" he panted.

"What?"

"You said before...my dick..."

"Oh, well it's all right. Why'd you stop?" he asked, and at the same moment realized Harry's stiffy had become soft. "Oh."

But strangely he hadn't felt so satisfied in a long time.

They didn't talk much at their meetings anymore. They could more often be heard crying obscenities behind the Quidditch changing rooms, preferably with their hands down each other's trousers. Draco was partial to the standing-up technique. It excited him to back Harry against the wall, his hand snarled in pubic hair, around a twitching spurting dick. Then he put his face onto Harry's chest and pleased himself on Harry's leg, and watched the trees cast dappling shadows over the grass. It brought him total peace.

Harry would rather lie down. He fancied imagining them in a bed. He held Draco as if he were something dear, and took their dicks into his hot encompassing palm.

Afterwards they would kiss, and secretly that was Draco's favorite part.

No matter how cruel it was to their classmates, Harry was indeed swayed to the Dark side: the slickness of a tongue in his mouth, the pinkness of Draco's cock-head in the autumn breeze, the pressure of come spraying into his hand—it all convinced him to forget his previous compassion.

But suddenly it stopped. That is to say, origami went out of style in a literal flash. Filch got tired of the extra clean up it left him, so he set the whole foyer on fire. With the artwork gone, everyone lost interest in paper, and the trade descended into memory. Snape lifted his ban, Johnston stopped leaving Draco gifts, and Terry Boot had to go about his Prefect duties like everyone else. That was the upside, but otherwise Draco was devastated. Now he couldn't sabotage the Potions class.

Snape would have no choice but to sniff out the traitor if origami showed up in every corner of his classroom now. There was no way around it, no excuse to visit Harry. Draco couldn't even come up with a way to get into contact with him, unless he sent a letter, but surely his giant eagle owl would draw attention. It was ruined. At meals Draco pushed around his food and in class he doodled lightening bolts instead of taking notes.

He consoled himself by noting that Snape was in a better mood.

"Now that you've all stopped this folding nonsense, you can get back focusing on the important things in life." He gave Draco a dark look. "There's nothing in the world origami can give you that a potion cannot. We will begin on—"

Snape stopped in the middle of his speech to watch a paper flower float past his face.

The students began to whisper in horror.

Draco felt a tingle in his stomach as the flower made its way toward the Slytherin side of the room, and directly at _him_. The flower flounced around his head and tickled his ears before resting on the table.

_Open me_, it said on the stem.

Snape was coming back to his senses, so Draco quickly unwrapped it. He held his breath as he read the message:

_This is stupid. Just meet me after class?_

How romantic. He looked over his shoulder at Harry. Everyone's head followed. Harry was calm for someone about to suffer Snape's wrath. He smiled at Draco, who could positively feel the bewilderment in his classmates' stares.

"Potter," Snape growled, and his tone, too, spoke volumes of confusion, "detention."

The silliest thought popped into Draco's head. On one hand this thought was suicidal and on the other it would bring him great happiness—but it was no contest whether or not to go through with it, because, though Draco was selfish and oftentimes uncaring, he was a lover, and that meant he needed his love.

He quietly slid a roll of parchment from his bag. Slowly, deliberately, he tore off a square sheet. All eyes turned on him. The eyes he was fishing for, Snape's, were the most curious.

Draco folded one parchment corner to the other. He unfolded it and flattened the whole thing out.

"Mister Malfoy," Snape said.

He folded the other corner to its opposite, and flattened that out as well.

"_Mister_ Malfoy."

He thought for a moment, and remembered the next step was to fold the bottom to the top. He creased it with his nail. The next step was interrupted by an angry yellow hand that snatched his parchment from under him.

"What do you think you're doing?" Snape demanded.

"I'm making a goose, sir."

"What."

"A goose, sir. It's a bird with a long bill, rather like your nose."

Snape drew back, with a betrayed look that broke Draco's heart. He hated to mistreat the man so, but _any means to achieve his ends_, as the saying went...

"De-_tention_," Snape spat.

Draco turned to Harry, smiled dazzlingly, and said, "I can't wait."

* * *

END

(2/2005)


End file.
